The Illustrious Prince eBook

Mr. Hamilton Fynes held out a letter which he had
produced from his breast pocket, and which was, in
appearance, very similar to the one which he had presented,
a short time ago, to the captain of the Lusitania.

“Perhaps you will kindly read this,” he
said. “I am perfectly willing to pay the
hundred and eighty pounds.”

The station-master tore open the envelope and read
the few lines contained therein. His manner underwent
at once a complete change, very much as the manner
of the captain of the Lusitania had done. He
took the letter over to his green-shaded writing lamp,
and examined the signature carefully. When he
returned, he looked at Mr. Hamilton Fynes curiously.
There was, however, something more than curiosity
in his glance. There was also respect.

“I will give this matter my personal attention
at once, Mr. Fynes,” he said, lifting the flap
of the counter and coming out. “Do you
care to come inside and wait in my private office?”

“Thank you,” Mr. Hamilton Fynes answered;
“I will walk up and down the platform.”

“There is a refreshment room just on the left,”
the station-master remarked, ringing violently at
a telephone. “I dare say we shall get you
off in less than half an hour. We will do our
best, at any rate. It’s an awkward time
just now to command an absolutely clear line, but
if we can once get you past Crewe you’ll be
all right. Shall we fetch you from the refreshment
room when we are ready?”

“If you please,” the intending passenger
answered.

Mr. Hamilton Fynes discovered that place of entertainment
without difficulty, ordered for himself a cup of coffee
and a sandwich, and drew a chair close up to the small
open fire, taking care, however, to sit almost facing
the only entrance to the room. He laid his hat
upon the counter, close to which he had taken up his
position, and smoothed back with his left hand his
somewhat thick black hair. He was a man, apparently
of middle age, of middle height, clean-shaven, with
good but undistinguished features, dark eyes, very
clear and very bright, which showed, indeed, but little
need of the pince-nez which hung by a thin black cord
from his neck. His hat, low in the crown and
of soft gray felt, would alone have betrayed his nationality.
His clothes, however, were also American in cut.
His boots were narrow and of unmistakable shape.
He ate his sandwich with suspicion, and after his first
sip of coffee ordered a whiskey and soda. Afterwards
he sat leaning back in his chair, glancing every now
and then at the clock, but otherwise manifesting no
signs of impatience. In less than half an hour
an inspector, cap in hand, entered the room and announced
that everything was ready. Mr. Hamilton Fynes
put on his hat, picked up his suitcase, and followed
him on to the platform. A long saloon carriage,
with a guard’s brake behind and an engine in
front, was waiting there.

“We’ve done our best, sir,” the
station-master remarked with a note of self-congratulation
in his tone. “It’s exactly twenty-two
minutes since you came into the office, and there she
is. Finest engine we’ve got on the line,
and the best driver. You’ve a clear road
ahead too. Wish you a pleasant journey, sir.”